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The roses were tall and in full bloom. Through the window I could see the daylilies behind them and the little red tree I don’t know its name, bowing like a miniature weeping willow. The roses were red and delicious and I made myself just stop and stand there and look and breathe. And as I did this, and as time went on, just a minute or so probably, I felt the roses inside me, I know this might sound odd, but I began to feel at one with the roses, they were swaying gently in the early morning breeze, the brief moments in early morning before the sun is really blazing on what will become a hot June day and I thought I am here in this moment, gazing at these flowers, the boundaries dissolving and I felt connected with the flowers and then they were me, not inside me, but briefly I was the flower, and I was in full bloom, a gorgeous red rose, swaying, and they were swaying and, within me, I was swaying.

I walked outside to feel the breeze for myself, the cool fresh morning air, and I listened and heard the birds, all kinds of noises, birds chirping in different ways and I closed my eyes so I could really focus on the birds chirping. I looked toward the east and the sunlight was more powerful there, casting the trees in a different kind of light so I could see them but the edges were softened, basking in the sun’s glow. I walked back to the garden and saw all kinds of flowers, I didn’t know some of their names, but I saw the deep blue of the delphinium, the yellow of the daylilies, and of course the roses, majestic and bowing and I bowed to them and said good morning. This could be my first day or my last—I tried to look at them as if they were brand new to me, a child’s first amazement and I tried to honor them as if this were the last time I would see them and I stood in this moment, on this day, impervious, at least for now, to moments gone and moments yet to come.